The Dead Sleep Easy-Freewood
by rainistorm
Summary: In the belly of the Prohibition rests a taboo trade of alcohol run by Al Capone. Under him, his right-hand-man, Jack Pattillo, runs the most popular speakeasy in Chicago. But he's going to need some held from a gun-for-hire named Ryan Haywood if he wants to whip the young and eager Gavin Free into gangster-ready shape.


It was 1929, and the Prohibition movement in Chicago was going strong; then again, so was the underground trade.

With the outlaw of alcohol in full effect, it had inadvertently spawned an entirely new creation. Hidden speakeasies and secret clubs formed throughout the country, and with it came a severe increase in gang violence. Territory was fought over, informants and bodyguards were hired, buildings were destroyed and trade was sabotaged as the demand for high-quality alcohol rose.

On the top of all of this was Al Capone with his fingers around the most popular speakeasy in all of Chicago, the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge (or 'The Green' for short).

He entrusted the running of The Green to no one but his right-hand man, Jack 'Machine Gun' Pattillo, a burly man with a ginger beard and a calm exterior; but his nickname wasn't for naught. He knew his stuff and only hired the best, which is why Ryan Haywood, the gun for hire, was a little more than honored when asked to help with a job.

He was a simple man, strong, silent, and incredibly intelligent, and he wore no suit jacket over his vest and shirt, choosing functionality over style. His sandy blond hair was slicked back, and cold blue eyes held history that would impress Al Capone himself.

He slid into the back alley, dark and dank, walking casually towards a plain-looking door; a few carefully placed knocks had the door cracked open, and he whispered the password to an unseen face. The corridors leading to the speakeasy were dimly-lit, and stairs brought Ryan down far below the basement of the simple laundry cleaner it was hidden under. But once the heavy door was opened, the grandeur of the establishment was unmatched by any he'd ever seen before.

Smooth jazz played by a live band filled the air along with joyful chattering and the air smelled of liquor and sweat. Lights of a soft orange hue illuminated the smoke-clogged space, and golden trimming laced intricate designs carved into the foundation. The place was packed with people of high esteem, laughing and sipping clear and amber-colored liquids without a care in the world of the war that waged silently above them. It made Ryan want to grit his teeth, but he supposed it was his business to keep the rich as ignorant as they were before.

He slipped through the crowd easily, customers off-put by his tough demeanor and recognizing business when they saw it. He tilted his hat at the bartender, a young man with freckles and curly red hair, as he took a seat, rapping his knuckles on the hard, varnished wood lightly.

"And how can I help you, sir?" The man asked, grinning charismatically at him as he hand-dried a shot class.

"I'm here to see the Machine Gun." Ryan said simply, his voice low and deep.

The man nodded knowingly, waving for a young flapper girl with red hair to take his place. "You're the gun for hire. M'name's Michael. I'll go get Mr. Pattillo. In the meantime, let my lovely fiance Lindsay get you a drink." He flashed another smirk before disappearing into the fray as the girl poured whiskey into a glass. Ryan muttered a thanks as he took it, swallowing it down in one gulp and cringing at the burn; surprisingly enough, he wasn't much of a drinker.

His eyes roamed the open space as he waited, noting several exits and suspicious-looking characters (with a job like his, he was always on the lookout for enemies he'd made along the way) until he was jolted forward as a hand patted his shoulder fondly.

"Ryan Haywood! Long time, no see!" Ryan froze at the voice, gaze snapping up to meet grey eyes sunken into a pale face framed with dark hair and a curly black mustache. "How long has it been? Two years? Three?"

"Geoff Ramsey, as I live and breathe." Ryan let out a chuckle, shaking the older man's hand firmly. "I see you've got some new tattoos." He gestured teasingly at Geoff's arms, completely inked with the art.

"The wife likes them, and who am I to deny the missus?" Geoff winked and they both shared a laugh; to anyone else, it would have seemed like a happy meeting between two long-separated friends, but the tension and venom hung in the air like an electric current. Ryan quirked his eyebrow, daring his ex-partner to make a move, but the reunion was cut short as Jack Pattillo appeared behind Geoff suddenly, his face shining with good nature.

"Ryan! So happy you could make it! Come! Follow us to a more private location." He gestured to the third exit Ryan had tagged and the blond nodded his head respectfully before following stiffly, eyes trained on the gun resting in Geoff's holster.

"So, I'm assuming you already know my right-hand man and personal guard, Geoff." Jack inquired as they entered a spacious and more subdued room, shutting the door behind him. Ryan merely nodded again, sighing as Jack prompted him to continue.

"We worked together on several jobs. We… separated on rather sour terms." He replied, holding back a sneer.

"This asshole shot me in the fucking hip, actually." Geoff interjected cheerfully and Ryan scowled at him.

"Oh! He's the one that you worked with in Texas?"

"The very same." Geoff grinned smugly at his boss's recognition.

Ryan's fingers twitched irritably, jaw clenching. "It wasn't like that, and you know it. You got greedy, Geoffrey." He spat out the older man's full name tauntingly. "We had a job to do, and I wasn't going to let you fuck it up."

Geoff's eyes glinted but he held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "I know, I know. But that was a while ago, Ryan. We both made dumb mistakes, and we're both different, okay?" He extended his arm and Ryan paused before shaking his hand.

"Okay."

"Lovely!" Jack boomed with a laugh. "I'm so happy you've both cleared that up!"

"Will I be working with him tonight?" Ryan asked, surveying the man. Though Geoff was likely nearing 40, he was still strong and knew how to work a gun, and they knew how to work around one another well enough.

"Oh no! Like I said, Geoff is my personal guard, so I'll be needing you here. You'll be working with one of our youngest lads, Gavin Free. He's only twenty-four, but the kid has spunk." Jack and Geoff shared a look, as if they were hiding something rather amusing. Before Ryan could question further, the door adjacent from him burst open suddenly. Ryan's submachine gun was out in an instant, held steady in front of his face.

"Whoa! Calm down there, fella!" A British accent, smooth and young, surprised him. The owner of it was a sprightly young man, thin and goofy-looking with his ridiculously messy golden-brown hair and hazel eyes on either side of an abnormally large nose. "I'm on your side!" He beamed, tripping over his own feet as he approached Ryan with his hand open for a shake. Ryan's brow furrowed as he glanced to a now-snickering Geoff and Jack.

"Is this a joke?" He asked, extremely unamused as the young man squawked his offense.

"Come on, Ryan, we both know you have a shitty sense of humor." Geoff elbowed him gently, still holding back his smile.

"So… this is a joke, right?"

"No it's not a bloody joke!" Gavin interjected, straightening his ruffled pinstripe suit. "I'm here to do the trade tonight whether you help me or not." He certainly was passionate, Ryan decided.

"Calm down, Gavin. Ryan is more than willing to help you with the pickup tonight and assure there are no complications with Burnie's men." Jack reassured him. "After all, it's what we're paying him for. Right, Ryan?" He snorted as Ryan merely grunted his affirmation. "Fantastic! Well, I suggest you two become acquainted with one another. Gavin, you'll be driving the van. Got the keys?"

Gavin nodded once before faltering, patting down his pockets frantically, and holding up the silver key victoriously. Ryan didn't know what it was, but he wanted to punch the boy.

"Excellent! You leave in one hour, so get ready." Jack bid them farewell, taking Geoff with him as he left the two men alone.

"Ryan, right?"

"How'd you guess?" Ryan deadpanned and Gavin looked at him confusedly before bursting into laughter.

"You're funny, Ryan. I like you already!" He squealed happily, making his way through the door he'd came from.

"That makes one of us." Ryan hissed under his breath, following the energetic man begrudgingly up several flights of stairs into a garage. A laundry van rested there, plain and completely ordinary to the untrained eye. But to Ryan, the bulletproof glass and bins perfect for smuggling alcohol in stuck out to him like a sore thumb.

"So basically we just have to drive to the spot and get back the liquor with no problem! Ray, our boat guy, will be waiting at the dock for us, and he's already been paid. However, there are no doubt going to be some of Burnie's men waiting as well, and I don't believe they're all that happy about the fire I started on their farm last week." Gavin grinned goofily back at Ryan, flashing his teeth in an annoyingly charming manner.

"You're saying I was hired to protect an idiot?" Ryan drawled as Gavin peeled back a trick door, revealing a small armory of weapons that the older man quickly began to inspect.

"Y'know, you're kinda cute, in a boring jerk kinda way." Gavin mused and Ryan tensed, holding back a snarl.

"Y'know, you're kinda annoying, in an I-want-to-kill-you kinda way." He retorted, cocking the Trench gun in his hand for emphasis. Gavin only giggled, twirling the van keys in his hand carelessly.

"I don't know why Geoff said you didn't have a sense of humour. I think you're a riot!" Gavin called as he rounded the van, leaving a bewildered Ryan.

"It's because I'm not joking." He mumbled irritatedly, already frustrated he would be spending several hours around the cocky gangster. Patience, he reminded himself firmly, eyeing the Tommy gun he now held longingly.

"So, what's your story?" Gavin's voice interrupted his thoughts and he sighed.

"Born in Georgia. Became a gun for hire. That's it." He spoke shortly, hoping Gavin would catch a hint. The Brit didn't, apparently, as he only frowned.

"Well that's boring. I was born in England-"

"Never would've guessed."

"You're silly Ryan. Say, does anyone ever call you Rye-Bread?"

"No, and if you ever call me that again I will kill you."

"Point taken. Anyways, I left there when I was around sixteen. I'm an illegal immigrant, and I was basically living on the streets when Jack took me under his wing. I thought America would be so much more opportunistic, y'know? So he takes me in, and trains me, and now here I am!" He grinned proudly at Ryan's dull expression.

"Fascinating." Ryan blinked once before pushing off the wall and towards the van, completely ignoring the younger man. He unwillingly crawled into the passenger's seat, wondering if Gavin was really the one qualified to be driving.

"Oh, are you ready to go? Sure you don't wanna make out or something before we leave?" Ryan spluttered, his mouth open in protest until he saw the teasing look on Gavin's face as he revved the van to life. "Lighten up, Ryan!" He cooed, leaving the older man to brood as they pulled out of the garage and into the night.

Gavin. Never. Stopped. Talking.

The ride to the waypoint was a good hour, and Ryan was certain the young man didn't even stop speaking to breathe. He chattered about his old family, his favorite books (Ryan was just surprised he read), past jobs he'd done, and asked ridiculous questions such as "What if your legs didn't know they were legs?" before continuing on and giving no time for Ryan to even begin to answer.

By the time they were near the pier, Ryan could feel a splitting headache blooming behind his eyes and a strong urge to strangle the nearest person itched his fingers.

"There he is! Oh! Oh no…" Gavin was squinting at a shadowy figure standing by the outline of a boat, his right arm extended completely out. "Burnie's guys are here, too. That's the distress signal." Gavin sobered immediately, pulling his gun out; Ryan had to admit, he was impressed. "Approach with caution, okay?"

Ryan merely rolled his eyes. He KNEW that. He had a good seven or eight years on the younger man, and had definitely been in the business longer.

"Hi, Ray! I'm here for a heaping shipment of detergent!" Gavin called cheerily as he exited the van, the gun held lazily by his side with tense fingers.

"I got it, Gav." Ray replied calmly, his short yet scrawny figure coming into clearer view as they approached. Ryan's eyes darted around the nearby buildings, scanning the windows and narrow alleyways between them. Shadows surrounded them, far more shadows than he had expected. He bit his lower lip nervously, his mind desperately whirring to find some kind of solution that would get the both of them out alive, or at least one of them, and drew a blank.

"Crap." He muttered under his breath and Gavin glanced over at him, the same hopeless look in his eyes as they both came to the same conclusion; a rat had told Burnie everything.

It took only a split second for the action to begin. A single bullet tore through Ray's forehead, spraying them both with misty blood, and the air was suddenly filled with loud bangs and flashes of light. The two men ducked behind the van and Ryan was surprised when he felt a rough pair of lips on his. He kissed Gavin back without thinking, blinking when the younger man pulled back.

"Been wanting to do that since I met you." Gavin grinned, tears pricking up in the edges of his eyes, his voice wavering ever-so-slightly. "Good day to die, eh?" Ryan took a deep breath through his nose as they saw the tip of a gun peek over the van.

They stood together, firing into the fray with matching looks of determination and the taste of each other in their mouths, and Ryan supposed maybe it was.

"Well, that was a pain in the ass." A figure shadowed in darkness stepped carefully over the blood-soaked pier, squinting to find his companion in the dark.

"Yeah, it was. How long have we been here? Hours? You would think there'd be a light or something."

"Didn't you pay attention? There used to be a streetlight, but it got blown out somewhere in the fight. Fuck, how are you still alive?"

"Rude. D'you think Burnie is gonna be pissed?"

"Considering we killed all his men? Probably." Ryan finally found Gavin, the younger of the two tripping over a body and falling into his shoulder. He steadied the lanky Brit as his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, rolling them at the cocky grin that painted the other's face.

"Top. It's a shame we lost Ray, though. At least we can still get the 'detergent', eh?" He patted Ryan's shoulder once before trotting towards the boat, stumbling several more times. Ryan followed closely, his expression one of disbelief and confusion.

"Are we not gonna talk about the fact that you fucking kissed me like some weird last stand-off?" He questioned, brow furrowing as Gavin continued on.

"Why? Are you straight?" The young man hauled a barrel over to him and Ryan took it in his strong arms.

"Uh… no? I mean, not really."

"Then are you-place it down and we'll take them all at once, you dolt-not attracted to me?" Gavin handed him another barrel as Ryan gingerly set the first one on the edge of the pier.

Ryan thought it over, gaze raking over Gavin's slender form, taking in his light stubble and thin features; he was definitely attracted to him. "That's not it."

"Then," Gavin huffed as he let go of the barrel, resting his hands on his hips and facing Ryan for the first time. "What's the problem?"

"I just wasn't expecting it, is all. Down where I come from, a kiss is a special thing between two people that care for one another." Ryan admitted, glad his flushing face couldn't be seen in the pale moonlight.

"That's bloody adorable."

"Plus, your idiocy gives me a headache." Ryan growled back, enjoying the indignant squawk that came from the young gangster.

"You liked it, admit it." Gavin retaliated, unloading the last barrel and joining Ryan on the pier to face him.

"I'm man enough to admit that I did. But a warning and some consent would be nice. Hell, just because you're a crook doesn't mean you have to act like one." Ryan frowned at him, stepping closer.

"Well, fine! Can I kiss you? Because I'd bloody well like to do it again." Gavin hissed with annoyance, the liquor now forgotten.

"Sure!" Ryan yelled back angrily, the two glaring at one another for a silent moment before their lips collided in a way softer than expected, moving against one another easily. Gavin's tanned arms made their way around Ryan's neck and the older man's hands kneaded the Brit's ass under his suit pants, pulling him closer. Their tongues teased each other's, flicking out in quick, light motions until Ryan finally let out a quiet snarl and nipped at Gavin's lower lip. The gangster moaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily to grind against Ryan's growing erection.

The older man kissed down Gavin's jaw, stopping suddenly when he tasted copper and salt. "What the fuck…?" He suddenly recognized the taste of blood, turning to spit on the ground frantically.

"Why'd you stop?" Gavin whined, blinking dazedly, and Ryan turned to survey him.

"Aw fucking gross! You're covered in blood." The crimson liquid of their enemies had sprayed over the two of them, speckling their clothes and skin alike. "I'm not doing shit with you until you're cleaned up."

"So you're saying you're planning on doing more with me?" Gavin smirked, his tone teasing as he took a barrel in his arms and strolled towards where their van (bullet-riddled as it was) sat parked.

"Well, Jack's paid me to stick around town for a while anyways."


End file.
